my husband is a patient guy

Augh, so pregnancy has been pretty good so far. I'm 8 months along, I was only sick for one, I have felt good other than that the whole time, and I'm not necessarily as big as a house (yet). I have had some minor issues -- I'm hot a lot and I sometimes have trouble sleeping. Emotionally, I'm a little, shall we say, closer to the edge than before. (Some would perhaps observe that I wasn't all that far before.;)) But today's little episode ended with me crying my eyes out in -- should I say the name of the place? -- OK, I will -- Hooters -- yes, that Hooters -- and running out the door.

It all started when I decided I wanted to go out for brunch and I wanted an omelette and toast and/or crepes and/or pancakes -- that type of food. You know, like a good yummy cafe. We remembered this cafe someone told us about recently and decided to try it. However we were a little slow getting going and by the time we got there, it was 2:56 p.m. I knew they closed at 3, but there were several tables of people in there still eating so I thought maybe it was one of those things where they let whoever in until the cut-off and that's it. Looking back, I shouldn't have asked, but the former server in me just couldn't sit down w/o asking. When I asked if they were closed, they said yes, even though the door was wide open and no one told me "Hey we're closed" when I walked in. OK.

So we get in the car and go to another cafe we know. I'm really kind of hungry by now. We sit down, figure out what we want, and the server comes. He says, "I'm sorry, no hot food now, just cold salads and sandwiches." Auuugh! You know when you want something very specific? And other things are not going to do? This phenomenon seems to be magnified during the gestational period. Actually I would have settled for a hot sandwich. I did not want cold stuff. I wanted something COOKED. OK.

So we go to the Mission, a very yummy Mexican/Americanish fusion cafe downtown. It's probably 3:40 by the time we get there. The server outside tells us they closed at 3. I'd be very happy with IHOP by now, but we both don't remember exactly where it is downtown, never having been to IHOP here. And by now I'm ravenous. And hot. And tired. And frustrated. I know I am not describing anything significant or important right now. I know that my life is easy when this is the worst thing that has happened in my pregnancy. I know that. I was still ravenous and hot and tired and hormonal. In the car, I tell Alexander that I almost cried when they weren't open.

So now we're driving around downtown, hoping to find both a suitable restaurant and a parking spot in the same vicinity. Not easy on a Saturday when you want breakfast at 4 pm. Well, I had given up on breakfast. But still not easy.* I did not want anything very ethnic, except maybe French (and the Mission does not count as Mexican). I wanted eggs or else a warm chicken sandwich or something like that. So we are driving and suddenly we see a parking spot, right in front of.....Hooters. Alexander suggests it and I say OK. I think it will have the kind of sandwich I want. There's a parking space. I'm starving. I'm in no position to be any more discriminating than that. We get in there. A few quizzical looks at my belly. Women are rare in there, I think, most especially obviously pregnant ones. I see with relief that there is a family with 3 young kids in there. We sit near them so we can pretend that we are at TGI Friday's and not where we really are. As we sit down, I realize that there is no air conditioning in this place, that everyone seems to be fanning themselves madly with menus, and the temperature is roughly the same in there as the earth's molten core. I think, "I can't stand this. I can't stand this temperature." Then I think about how hungry I am and how far we've come. And how it's hot outside, and I'll have to walk, and find another place, or find a whole different rare parking spot outside a different restaurant...or stay here. It's all too much. I say to Alexander, "I'm going to cry." He looks at me in sympathy/faint hopes that I'm just exaggerating. Suddenly I burst out into great, body-wracking sobs and bury my face in my hands. He jumps up. "Baby, baby, baby. Do you want to go somewhere else?" "I d-d-don't know," I sob. He says something else. I mumble something about being so uncomfortable I can't stand it (it really is hot in there, plus I'm really hot when everyone else is fine these days) and then I just get up, sobbing, and waddle out of there as fast I can. Halfway out I remember to put my shades on to preserve a shred of dignity. I have no idea what those people thought...

We get in the car and find another place, a nice cool, air-conditioned Irish restaurant/pub with hardly anyone in it and yummy sandwiches, and parking nearby. I don't even cry when they tell me they've stopped serving breakfast. A major victory.
The end.


*One other consideration (in my mind -- Alexander did NOT bring this up) was money. The originally-recommended cafe was recommended for its inexpensiveness and its yumminess. Downtown there are several way overpriced touristy bar/grill places that probably spend way more time on their drink recipes than their food. I didn't feel like spending $30 to eat mediocre food when our original plan was for good, cheap breakfast.

country folks

We're trying out a more country style, do you like it? OK, not really - it was a moving-to-Texas-going-away party for Mya, Kiron & Grady. It was amusing to me that the most countrified song the band played (made up of some of our talented friends) was "I Walk the Line" by Johnny Cash -- other than that it was mostly Eagles and Creedence Clearwater Revival. I was also unable to find any cowboy hats for Alexander at the two second-hand stores I went to - so we settled for a hat he owns that's made of straw or something.

35 weeks

So Jay Are said I should post a pic of my pregnant self...so here's one we took last night. I think the belly looks smaller when it's covered by a shirt. I feel bigger than this...




Then, there's Alexander...

Medals and Expectations

Isn't it interesting the great variations among expectations (in everything in life, but specifically, because I'm thinking about it), in the Olympics? Some athletes work so hard and never make the Olympics. To them, just getting on the Olympic team in their sport would be the greatest accomplishment. They don't dream of medaling, maybe not of getting past the first round of anything, maybe not even of playing (depending on their sport), but getting on the team -- that's a huge huge victory. Then there are the ones who are pretty sure they'll make the team, but they would like to finish well, beat a personal best, or win one game or match. If they do that, they will be ecstatic. They know they're not anywhere near medal contention. They're just happy to be there. Then there are those (these are my favorite) who have an outside chance of winning a medal, but everything would have to be just right and the stars would have to align and they'd have to have the best performance of their life, and someone else would have to mess up. They are the ones who look ecstatic receiving a bronze medal stand and who may never ever get one again.

THEN there are the ones (and I'm not knocking them, I'm just listing them) who are at the top of their sport; they have world records, other gold medals, maybe, and everyone EXPECTS them to medal, and really the only thing they'll be happy with is gold. Isn't it strange? To them, a silver is like losing. In some sports, it really is losing, like the team sports with matches (soccer, basketball, etc.) unlike in races. You don't lose a race when you get silver, you come in second. But when you get silver in soccer, you lost a big huge game. Tonight I saw video online of the womens' US and Brazil gold medal match. Apparently the Brazilians actually outplayed the US team, but ultimately the US got an overtime goal. I saw three Brazilian players sobbing, distraught. They lost. They played really hard and they lost. When they got their silver medals, they were classy and tried to smile, and mostly did, but their great disappointment was obvious.

And Michael Phelps would have been really bummed, most likely, if he had only gotten seven golds. Crazy, huh? It's all about expectations.

I love cheap dates

Tonight Alexander and I took two chairs, stopped by the store for some drinks, dark chocolate, and strawberries, and went to the beach (of the bay, not the actual ocean, but good enough). We asked a guy if we could share his bonfire, and he said yes. His friend came back and we talked to them a little bit but mostly just enjoyed their fire. It was lovely weather, not windy, just cool enough so that the fire felt good, and the smell of the ocean and the sound of the little bay waves(mostly from the wakes of night boaters) was peaceful and perfect. The lights from some night kayakers looked like a bunch of tiny blue lanterns floating on the water. On our way home, we saw that the fireworks from SeaWorld had just started, so we parked and took out our chairs again and watched them on the beach until the end. Then we went home.

finally! the perks of expectant motherhood

It took me a really long time to show or to show very much. I wanted to look pregnant RIGHT AWAY so that people would open all the doors for me and be all happy about my earth mother fertility vibes. (And so they wouldn't think I was just gaining weight for no reason!) But now my belly is way out there and people are so accommodating. They ask about the baby and guess how far along I am and tell me "congratulations" and all that stuff. Last Saturday we were at an outdoor concert. It was a situation where without one, I would have had to stand for like 5 hours (yeah right). We had meant to bring two chairs with us, but we could only find one at the time, and so I was sitting on Alexander's lap. (He would have given up the chair for just me, of course, but it was OK for awhile.) Then someone just brought me a chair! It was a situation where chairs were like gold because even the regular people were tired of standing for hours. That was so sweet. Then the security people came and took away all the chairs that belonged to the venue because they didn't want people standing on them and falling off and suing them. Sigh. People tried to intercede for me and save my chair, but they said "sorry" and took it anyway. No sooner did they leave than someone produced another chair for me! Yay. Two women near me admonished everyone around me not to stand too close to me or squish me. I felt so protected! I really like pregnancy. I think I'll do it again sometime. I guess kids seem to go along with it, though. Those probably take some work.

Music & Language In Utero

My mom was telling me a story she was told about a guy who was trying and trying to think of the name of this one violin piece. It was bothering him to no end-- he could hear it in his head but couldn't place it. I guess he was later talking to his mother about it, and she said, "Oh, I practiced that song on the violin all the time when I was pregnant with you." Which is kind of cool. So anyway I'm finally getting around to putting headphones on my belly and playing music for babycakes. We're starting with some Chopin and Beethoven but I am going to broaden it and throw some other genres in there. But I think I will do an experiment with *one* song and play it for him almost every day and then see if that song is relaxing to him after he's born or maybe helps him go to sleep or something. Would be too bad if he hated the song I picked and it was like when they torture people by playing the same awful music all the time into their prison cell. Talk about not being able to get away.

Alexander is going to speak only French (or at least no English) to the baby -- he's starting it now. Some studies say it's easier for the kid to assimilate multiple languages at once if he associates a certain language with a certain person. Also, since we don't both speak French, he's going to hear a lot of English, so there needs to be a steady supply of French. Otherwise it might get sort of forgotten/tossed by the wayside. Apparently they can also learn more than two just as easily...so we'll see if we decide to add a third one. I would like it if he learned one of Alexander's African languages, but we'd have to be pretty dedicated to make that happen. Then, again, I'll be happy if we can just keep him -- I was going to say "clean and dry" but obviously that's not going to happen -- OK, if we can just keep him.

All those times I thought I was out of shape? I wasn't.

NOW I'm out of shape. Breathing hard from just walking? This is getting very frightening. I suppose it's no mystery because I work out perhaps two times per week. If that. Sometimes one. I think this is my cue to start doing something with myself. Although I generally feel good, I don't *feel* like working out, and my standbys -- running and cycling -- are sort of by the wayside right now. Well, I could run, but it's not as comfortable anymore (even though I have handy contraptions that strap things down and keep the belly in place... :-) ) and I'm so HOT that I want it to be cold outside before I run. And it's not really cold out these days, even if it's not burning up. Walking is what I should be doing. Or going to the gym but I have all these excuses...I can't get there until Alexander comes home, and then I don't feel like it by that time.

I gave up the bike for now (I think I can ride it home from the birth center, though*) because even though Alexander and my mom told me they didn't think I should ride it, I decided not to listen to them because I think both of them are somewhat over-cautious. I think they would have me stay in a locked castle all day and do needlepoint. However, when the midwife -- who I consider fairly liberal in these matters -- told me she would not recommend it, I decided to cave in. :-( The bike was great for transportation, not to mention exercise. I guess the worry is that if I fell or got hit by a car, the consequences could be bad. I guess I can understand that. So anyway, here goes: I resolve to walk 4x per week for 45 minutes or more. That, surely, is doable. I'll check in in a week.


*just kidding, moms